If I get a shovelful of dirt for every time I let a brilliant idea I have settle down and get stashed up in the back of my head for "future use" I'd have mountains by now. That's never a good thing. Ever.

Today, while hunting for a clear folder in my huge pile of books and papers, I found buried deep down under the pile of all the papers and books I've managed to gather while in University (and still somehow have kept for those many "just in case scenarios" that never happened anyway) an old notebook full of random short quips of the things that crossed my mind that time. They were so all over the place, very random and vague. And I found it so refreshing.

Why must everything be explained? For once, I loved reading my thoughts and not knowing the reason behind them. And still they made sense. I would like to be able to read back on my thoughts one day without having to be reminded of all my emotional roller coaster that time that led me to think that way. I think I can be spared of having to go through emotional traumas twice (at least) because remembering can both be a blessing and a curse.

So why not celebrate randomness? That's life in it's most candid form, isn't it?

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There are times when I believe that life should be lived in such a way where there isn't any room for regrets and I can, on some times, convince myself I have no regrets . But who am I trying to kid, right?

I have so many regrets, so many things I would change in a heart beat if I could but believe me, right now, you are by far my biggest regret. And the funny thing is, I could never bring myself to think of you as a mistake.